


Neon God, Arcade Congregation

by isaac richard (isaacrichard)



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Complicated Relationships, Inner Dialogue, Introspection, M/M, Oral Sex, au- elliot wakes up lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:34:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25137766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isaacrichard/pseuds/isaac%20richard
Summary: Elliot comes back online in time to find Tyrell at his feet, a gun in his hand, and a love confession rattling around in his brain.
Relationships: Elliot Alderson/Tyrell Wellick, Mr. Robot/Tyrell Wellick
Comments: 4
Kudos: 74





	Neon God, Arcade Congregation

**Author's Note:**

> lol

“How long?” is not the question Tyrell expects.

“Beg –“ he swallows. He’s still clinging to Elliot’s legs on the arcade floor, sobbing. The neon lights flicker and flash, purple, blue, red. The shadows they cast are long and inhuman. “Beg pardon?”

“How long have you loved me,” Elliot says, voice dead. And Tyrell knows this is Elliot, not the _other,_ the one he usually sees _._ The one who had made him get to his knees in the first place, almost blew his brains out, gave Tyrell an erection the size of the Empire State –

“I don’t know,” he says, honestly. He wipes the tears from his face, sits back on his heels so he’s not a breath’s length from Elliot’s crotch. “Maybe forever.”

Elliot steps away in shock, gun still in his hand, but distractedly, in the way you accidentally walk away with a pen. It’s obvious he no longer has any intention to use it.

“I can’t love you,” Elliot says, mostly to himself. “I can’t give you what you want.”

He’s begun to pace, back and forth, back, and forth, back and forth, between the computers and the skee-ball machines. His face flickers in the blue-and-red lights, changing his expression with every step.

“I can’t. I can’t,” he says. He pauses. “And you can’t love him, either.”

“Me?” Tyrell asks, startled, but clearly Elliot hadn’t meant him. He continues on with the pacing, gun glittering in his hand, face flashing in the twisting, changing neon.

“I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I –“

It was like someone had broken the voicebox of a doll, causing it to utter the same sentence again and again. A skipping record on the Victrola of Elliot’s mind.

And though Tyrell watches the switch before his eyes, he still can’t believe it. Elliot’s face slides from panicky to completely serene, and he stops his pacing to slowly, languidly, light himself a cigarette. As if he wasn’t having an episode twenty seconds before.

“Mr. Robot?” Tyrell’s voice shakes, a mixture of excitement and fear. He’s still on the floor.

“Bingo, sweetheart,” he says, flashing Tyrell a sharp grin. “Now – where were we, huh?”

It was like watching someone flip between two channels on a television, or two pages on a browser, rapidly. Mr. Robot is gone again, stuffed under by Elliot, who looks about ready to dive completely into the panic attack he was fighting.

Tyrell’s head spins. “Elliot?”

Elliot doesn’t answer, which is just as good as answering. He finishes his cigarette, no care given to where the ashes go, and looks into Tyrell’s eyes, eye contact strong, but terrified. His breath is shallow, like that of a frightened animal.

“Why?” There is no shake to his voice, and it’s clearly audible.

Tyrell trips to answer, because at least he understood this. “Because you’re a god. You have power no one else has. You could destroy the world, but you choose to save it, and even I am not strong enough for such a task. You deserve to be worshipped.”

“You’re fucking insane,” Elliot says. “Fucking insane, fucking crazy – looney fucking tunes, goddamn it, fucking looney tunes. Daffy Duck motherfucker, distracting us, I can’t believe it’s him we actually fell for –“

He’s not talking to Tyrell anymore – he’s not even Elliot, anymore. Tyrell closes his eyes, listening to them. He’s still on the floor.

Silence. The flick of a lighter. Shuffling of feet. The gun being set down with a dull thud. Someone sitting heavily in the desk chair.

Tyrell opens his eyes.

It’s his Elliot, and he can tell it’s his Elliot by the way he watches, waits for Tyrell to decide how to proceed. Had it been Mr. Robot, it wouldn’t have been his decision to make.

“I don’t understand. Why me?” Elliot murmurs. There are tear-tracks on his face, though he isn’t currently crying. “Why am I your obsession of the week? I’m no one.”

“You’re a god,” Tyrell says, reverent. He looks around the arcade, gestures to it with a grand, sweeping hand.

“This is your chapel. I am your congregation. Don’t you see? It was always meant to be this way, Elliot. You and I, this is where we were meant to end up. It was foretold.”

“Get up,” Elliot says, suddenly, sharply, and it’s not Elliot, but it is. Tyrell stands without hesitation.

“You need me,” Elliot says, not addressing Tyrell, but speaking aloud, as if he was solving a complex math equation. His eyes rapidly jump around, like he was scanning for enemies.

“You need him. You need this. Evil Corp fired you, and probably blacklisted you from the industry. Your wife is going to leave you. You’re turning to him like weak people turn to Jesus. Fuck, you’re _using_ him like people use Jesus.”

Elliot pulls at his hair. “But he needs it. He needs to be wanted.”

Tyrell lets the blows about his life roll off his back, enraptured by this display. Elliot was seemingly talking himself into accepting Tyrell, the back and forth as fluid as a conversation between two people.

“I don’t need shit,” Elliot murmurs, after a moment. His eyes stay on the floor. “I don’t need you, Tyrell. That’s what he thinks, not me.”

A long pause. Tyrell wrings his hands, waiting.

“But I want this. I think. I don’t understand why, because you’re everything I should hate, but chalk it up to the fact that my girlfriend just died. I don’t know. But I –“

Tyrell is suddenly in Elliot’s space. Elliot does a double-take, because hadn’t he just been across the room?

“Can I kiss you?”

He didn’t usually ask, but Elliot was a skittish creature. His hands hover, ready to seize, and Elliot floats just outside of them. Their bodies flash red-blue, blue-red, with the arcade lights. All is still.

“Fuck,” Elliot whispers. He squeezes his eyes shut, and one tear escapes, followed by another. “Fuck. Fuck.”

Tyrell doesn’t expect to _be_ kissed, but that’s exactly what happens, Elliot on tiptoe with his arms clumsily thrown around Tyrell’s neck. He’s overwarm, smells of stale sweat and smoke and of the arcade itself, ungraceful and harsh with his mouth on Tyrell’s. Their teeth clack, but not unpleasantly.

Tyrell’s brain goes offline. Elliot’s does, too. It’s quiet, and warm, a tiny, womb-like recess outside of everything, and Elliot feels himself tumbling into it. He wants this. He wants it. He does, and he can’t deny it while it’s happening.

Tyrell worships with his mouth, his body. He kisses Elliot the way he once kissed his wife, when she had been the sun to his earth. Elliot was the _god_ to his universe. The difference is undeniable, and his efforts double, triple. He wants this badly, Elliot notes.

But someone else did, too.

Because though Mr. Robot had uncharacteristically stepped aside, momentarily radio-silent, there was a reason Elliot had been absent before suddenly awakening, the gun enough to spur him back into the world.

Robot wanted Tyrell, too. Enough to bring him here alone, and probably not for the first time.

It makes Elliot’s brain hurt, because does that mean Mr. Robot had had a partner before, without him being any the wiser? A girl (a guy?) he saw when the sun went down?

The line between himself and Robot was blurrier than Elliot would have liked, but some things were clear. Robot took the body without permission, whenever he wanted to. What the fuck had he been doing with it, besides fsociety?

And he wants Tyrell, but maybe in a different way – because if Tyrell loved Elliot, Robot loved to use him for it. He thought it was an undeniable business opportunity, so to speak. Elliot couldn’t exactly argue with that logic, as much as he hated how skeevy it was.

Tyrell would do anything they wanted, needed, simply asked for. He’d scramble to do it. That was an invaluable asset to have.

And Elliot isn’t cruel. He hates Robot sometimes, but he isn’t cruel. He steps aside.

Tyrell gasps when Elliot sharply breaks the kiss, but Elliot only smiles. “Are you just gonna kiss me all night?”

The smile shows too much teeth, giving Robot away, but only because he wants Tyrell to know it’s him. His voice is way too cocky for the look on his face, pink and dopey and expectant.

Tyrell attempts to catch his breath, his hands still on Elliot’s waist. Elliot, who wasn’t Elliot, who doesn’t move. Still smiling, teeth like daggers. 

“You wanna get on your knees again?” It’s not a question, although it’s presented that way. Tyrell shudders hard, straining in his expensive trousers.

Robot leans way in, enough to breathe directly into Tyrell’s ear, nips at the soft, pale lobe. Right where Tyrell’s veins were the bluest, touting Nordic blood. His hand snakes down Tyrell’s leg, dangerously close to where Tyrell would love him to go.

Tyrell shudders again, just as hard, his eyes slid half-closed. Swaying enough that it’s obvious, rocking them both.

“I hear that’s where the gods are best worshipped.”

It’s a dance they’re doing – all three of them. That’s how Elliot rationalizes it in his mind, their mind, whosever it was: they were dancing, and occasionally, Tyrell would switch partners. He waits patiently for his turn.

Tyrell is none the wiser to their internal workings, or if he was, he had stopped caring. He had never, in his wildest dreams, imagined he would get them both.

It was one or the other, whichever would take him at that moment, but never both. There had been too much bickering, too much of Robot being emphatic that Elliot could never know about the times before this – although it had never gotten this far, like this. The other had never been so present.

“Go ahead,” Mr. Robot purrs, knocking his legs against Tyrell’s. “On your knees.”

Tyrell does as he’s told, grappling for his senses as Elliot allows this – what he had been privately been trying to coax into existence since that infamous Allsafe meeting. The one that ruined Terry Colby’s life, and birthed Tyrell’s.

It’s skin, endless skin, warm and willing. Tyrell longs to leave bruises along the perfect skin, leave evidence and stake his claim, but he refrains.

Mr. Robot combs Tyrell’s hair back from his face, pets his cheek, even though he had told himself he wasn’t going to touch. Tyrell had enough of an ego without thinking Robot loved him back, or even that Elliot did, although the former writhes in their mind like he couldn’t wait to get back to Tyrell.

Robot smirks to himself, lining his cock up with Tyrell’s mouth, slowly sliding into the slick heat. He’ll drag it out a little longer on Elliot, the sadist that he was. Make him never again say he didn’t want or need this.

He had also told himself he wasn’t going to give Tyrell the pleasure of working sounds out of him, but Tyrell sets himself to the task of sucking cock like he was going to get a medal at the end. He’s talented with his hands, even, raking Robot’s thighs with his fingernails, his rhythm set.

Robot holds out. He really does, not wanting to give Tyrell the satisfaction, but Tyrell slides forward until he reaches the base, unchoking, practiced. He swirls his tongue, and that’s it – Robot finally gives him the gratifying moan he’s looking for.

“Holy shit,” he mutters, because he just can’t keep his mouth shut. He fights another moan, groaning instead. He pulls Tyrell’s hair, not hard, but enough to make him keen. Tyrell, who has yet to touch himself - _sacrifice for his god,_ Robot thinks.

“Did you go to school for this? Huh? Did you go to Cocksuckers University, Sweden?”

But the insult just seems to make Tyrell ramp up his efforts, head bobbling, moans vibrating around Robot as he grapples Elliot’s thin waist like he intended to snap them in two. Robot moans. It’s broken, and it sounds more like Elliot than he wants to admit.

Elliot, who hovers. Waiting.

The body is getting close. Robot doesn’t care to make the distinction between them, as he shoves Elliot in at the last second, leaving him to spill down Tyrell’s throat, hips jerking, legs quivering. Tyrell doesn’t lose a drop, and he shakes, whining. His trousers dampen. Just this has gotten him off, too.

Robot catches Elliot before he can fall forward and crush Tyrell, holds him upright.

“You caught me by surprise,” he murmurs, eyes fluttering. Like he needed a good long sleep.

“Spice of life, kiddo,” is Robot’s only explanation. Really, he’d known Elliot would be overwhelmed by all the sensations – he didn’t know Tyrell enough not to dissect every movement he made, which ruined the point of mindless blowjobs.

But he didn’t want him to miss the best part of it all. What else did people fuck for, if not the easy release of endorphins?

Tyrell’s sat back on his knees, wiping his mouth and tears. Picking at his wet crotch.

Elliot can’t help it – he hugs him, suddenly. Call it post-fuck feelings, but he does. It’s quick, and Tyrell looks shocked, but his arms come up around Elliot anyway. His hand are large, warm.

“You’re nuts,” Elliot mutters. “But so are we.”

Tyrell clears his throat. “Does that mean – “

Elliot shakes his head. “Don’t ask me what it means. But you can stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> *spits on canon* and then they all lived happily ever after


End file.
